This week, Staff Writer Debra Dowling presents her top five reasons to thank the French, in honor of Bastille Day, on July 14. Next week, look for Managing Editor Carrie Kreisler’s top five ways in which dreams are bizarre.

5) The language
    Ah, the sonorousness. Is there anyone on Earth who does not find spoken French melodic and beautiful to the ear? 

4)  Joie de vivre
    The French enjoy life. They don’t just stop to smell the roses, they plant flowers along the path and praise them in poetry and song. Even a picnic or sidewalk café feels like the canvas of fine art. In restaurants, I always found the service deft and understated and the food spectacular. Vive la France!

3) The wine
 No connoisseur, I, but I’ll take an inexpensive French wine over a medium-priced bottle from any other country any day. And we can thank 10th century monks, who were the first to take note of the  country’s rich soils. They discovered some parts of vineyards surpassed others, and parceled land by soil, subsoil and relation to the sun, creating the appellation process. An appellation gives an idea of which grape varieties comprise the wine. For example, Sancerre is Sauvignon Blanc, Bordeaux is Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and red Burgundies are Pinot Noir and white Burgundies are Chardonnay. Ah, the bouquet. A votre santé!

2) The food
    Whether you’re enjoying Crêpe Suzette or afreshly baked croissant with espresso, or sipping Chablis with coq au vin and a luncheon salad, there is something about French cuisine that makes you want to celebrate and savor. Bon appétit!

1) The Declaration of Independence
     It’s not a stretch to say that were it not for the French, the American Revolution would probably have ended differently. France infused desperately needed cash and nearly went bankrupt doing so (one of many factors leading to its own revolution starting with the storming of the Bastille a decade later). The French also lent  military aid throughout the war, up to eventual victory when Gen. Charles Corwallis surrendered. In fact, in 1781, five regiments of the French army marched south from Rhode Island to Virginia and joined the American forces under Gen. George Washington to finally defeat the British Crown forces at Yorktown.

This past Sunday, Father’s Day, was a day of reflection for me.  My daughter  spent the day with her father, and I could not be with mine.
I live in Nebraska and my father, Ed Dowling, and mother, Joyce, reside in New Jersey. 
As I heard friends and co-workers ask first how they were spending Father’s Day and then how their Father’s Day had been, I thought of my own dad.
Words like trustworthy, hardworking, and selfless are synonymous with my dad. He’s also a proud grandfather and an avid gardener, hunter, fisherman and New York Yankee fan.
It’s a cliché to say that, as an adult, I appreciate my parents now.
It takes true character, however, for a parent to show appreciation to his child, like the time when I was a little girl and gave dad a pair of Mickey Mouse socks, a souvenir from my first trip to Disneyland.
My usually conservative dad surprised us all by wearing those knee socks often. Even in summer, in shorts. Neighbors  chuckled when they saw him mowing the lawn in them, but he didn’t care. He was simply delighted his daughter had remembered him, and he proved it. Actions speak louder than words. (He also seemed to genuinely like those socks, so maybe I was on to something.)
Ed Dowling grew up in poverty and squalor.  He was the oldest of 16 children, supported entirely on their father’s janitor’s salary.
Dad doesn’t talk much about it now, and he never voices recriminations or resentment.
He was only 7 years old when a painful memory was stamped indelibly in his heart and his character. His cherished 5-year-old sister, Betty, died of pneumonia.  The child contracted a common cold that was either unnoticed or unattended. Her condition deteriorated. The sin of it all is that it could have probably been prevented with responsible care. I often wonder if my father’s fierce protective instincts took root then.
He did vow to break the cycle of poverty. When he was 10, he had a successful newspaper route. When he started, he had 85 customers and when he stopped two years later, he had 350. He won numerous awards for all the subscriptions he sold, including a few trips to Washington, D.C. and Florida. He also won more than one bicycle that took him not only on his appointed rounds, but later to a prestigious high school across town to which he’d won an academic scholarship.
He married his high-school sweetheart at 19, and 16 months later was the father of twins.
He held down a job, supported his family and put himself through college, even though it took 12 years. Some of my earliest memories are of Dad laboring over physics or  German homework in the wee hours.
The little boy who lost his sister, the Long Island (NY) Press’ winning newsboy and wearer of Mickey Mouse socks symbolizes fatherhood to me.  
Happy Belated Father’s Day, dear Dad.
A belated Happy Father’s Day to all deserving dads. Enjoy whatever stage of fatherhood you are in, from your first bundle of joy up to and including your golden years, when  you bounce your grandchild on your knee.
I don’t know how to show my thanks to a man who taught me right from wrong, refereed many a childhood squabble, put me through college and ultimately gave me wings.
Oh, wait. The Disney Store sells socks, doesn’t it?